Sirens sounded in the distance.
“What did you—” Curt swung the gun around.
A flash of motion as Gentr y dove for his legs. Curt fired. Cameron launched himself. Another shot went wild. He grabbed Curt’s wrist and yelled for Gentry to back off, but she clung to Curt’s knees and kept him from kicking loose. Cameron banged the gun out of Curt’s hand and took a punch to the temple.
Gentry scooped up the gun and rolled out of the fray. The sirens screamed louder. Curt punched Cameron’s ribs. Cameron drove his fist into Curt’s face, feeling his index finger crack. Curt grabbed his throat. Cameron broke the hold. They rolled. Curt heaved him off and leveraged another grip on his throat.
Gentry hollered, “Stop.”
Curt’s grip tightened.
“I’ll shoot!”
He couldn’t breathe to tell her not to.
Cops burst into the room, grabbed and subdued Curt Blanchard. Cameron rolled to his side and watched Gentry lower Curt’s gun to the floor between her knees. Good thing she hadn’t tried to shoot. She could have hit either one of them.
He crawled over to her, breathing hard and bleeding from a cut to his shoulder. One of Curt’s bullets? She untied the gag hanging around her neck and threw it. He pulled her to his chest, crushed her with his embrace. She was safe; she was whole. He swallowed the lump in his throat and rasped, “Are you through scaring the wits out of me?”
The medical team had bandaged her wrists and Cameron’s grazing, treated the cut on the back of her head, and provided them both a light pain-killer. The detectives had taken her statement, the arduous retelling of everything that had happened. She had enthralled them with no effort at all, signed a sheet of stationery for Detective Stein’s daughter; To Haley, may all your dreams come true. But she no longer took that for granted.
Her bold confidence had been shattered. The helplessness she’d felt, the fear and pain were now intrinsic. She would never face danger without its shadow. Curt’s hands on her throat, his desire to silence, to quench her light. If Cameron hadn’t come to the door …
They rode the elevator up to her apartment, where Curt had sneered at her candles. He would be there in the glow, their scent eliciting the cloying fear in the back of her throat. She had to purge him, his words, his brutality. The helplessness.
Was it worse because he’d shown her his soul? Because she’d heard the pain behind his accusations? Because no one had stopped his suffering, given him strength and hope when he needed it. She hated feeling compassion for the person who had cracked her spirit. She swept aside a tray of pillar candles and pebbles that clattered to the floor.
Cameron reached out and drew her close. Concern etched his face, and she hated that too. Curt Blanchard had damaged her life, her family. Her soul.
She clenched her jaw. “He had no right.”
“No.”
“How could he do what he did to Uncle Rob, to me?”
“Lots of messed-up people in the world.”
She had cared once, tried to make a difference. “No one can reach them all.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t try.”
She looked up at him. “And be sneered at and targeted?”
He cupped her cheek. “I stop cons like Curt. You change lives. We can only do our parts.”
“What difference does it make? We can’t stop evil?”
“But we can stand against it.”
She clenched her fists. “I felt so helpless.” That, more than anything, fueled her rage.
He raised her face and kissed her bruises. She kissed him back ferociously. He responded, engulfing her with his own wanting. They fell to the couch, unable to get close enough. She wanted nothing between them, not even air. Her fingers snagged his hair. She kissed his mouth, sweeter and deeper than any stage kiss. This was real. This was now. All the wanting she’d pretended couldn’t touch it. “Make love to me, Kai.”
“Gentry.”
Her whole body shook. “Tied to the pipes, to the bed, all I could think was he could take everything, even what I want to give you.”
“Not like this, in anger.”
“Yes, in anger. In rage.” She could hardly contain it.
His kiss was soft, his embrace a safe confinement. His palm warmed the back of her neck, in the way he always held on as though she could be lost too easily. He murmured, “I love you. And God knows I want you.”
Heat coursed through her. But instead of stoking the fire burning inside, it soothed the awful ache.
His fingers stroked her cheek. “I cherish you.” His lips found the hollow of her throat. “And I’ll protect you, even from myself.”
“But you can’t. Life is too precarious. I want …”
His mouth silenced her so long the words died away, then he pressed his forehead to hers. “Please. Let me give you this.”
She started to cry, haywire emotions crippling her senses. He held her as the rage dissolved.
Her sobs deepened. “Don’t let me go.”
“I promise.”
She wept away her anger, frustration, and fear until the tears were spent. He still held her. She could feel his desire; she’d spoken hers. She’d yearned for his body. But he gave her his soul. And she loved him more than she’d ever thought possible.
Exhaustion hit like a tidal wave. She slept. And woke. He kissed her, and she felt whole.
“Kai,” she breathed, thinking of turquoise waters and golden sands, the salt tang and deep-blue mysteries. Fresh tears came, but no anger or fear. “I can’t let you go.”
“Then don’t.”
“Have you ever thought you might want to marry me?”
He expelled his breath. “I think it every day. Every hour. I make myself work between thinking it.” He touched her lips. “I told you I love too hard. I gave you fair warning.”
She ran her fingers over his beard, surprised again how soft it was. Not at all intimidating. “I have to finish Just Illusions.”
“You’re saying this because …”
“After that …” She gave a single shoulder shrug.
His fingers shook as he traced them over that shoulder. “Are you proposing?”
Everything she felt for him found her eyes; she couldn’t hide it.
He half laughed. “You’ve just carved one bombora wave. You’d better see if you can stand me when nothing worse than a traffic ticket comes your way.”
It was impossible to explain the bond they’d formed through crisis. But she knew. It was fire that tempered steel. And whatever came, they’d be stronger for it.
FORTY-SEVEN
Nica rested her hand on her belly and felt the flutter inside. She glanced across the green space to TJ’s gaze and shared his wonder at the life they’d made. Kai had been his best man six months ago, and TJ stood now between her brother and Denny in their hand-painted tropical shirts. Although her heart belonged to that silent Hawaiian, this day it swelled with joy for Kai as Gentry came toward them on her father’s arm.
Birds of paradise, jasmine, and orchids trailed from her hands against the tea-length, white silk sheath she wore. Jasmine and snowwhite orchids crowned her hair. A smile trembled on her lips as she passed her aunt and uncle seated together in the front and took Cameron’s arm.
They had kept the time and place secret, but what they were paid for the exclusive wedding photos and interviews would furnish the Hanalei beach house they’d purchased with the rest of Kai’s inheritance and some of the earnings from Gentry’s last movie as well.
She and TJ would have them close, at least until Gentry accepted another script. After Just Illusions the offers were too many, but she could choose carefully and intended to. If the Lord brought her a part she believed in, she would take it on her terms.
Kai had never looked so happy. He wore his hopes as brightly as his shirt. He wanted a baby. She’d known that even before the look of wonder and yearning he’d gotten when he felt her son kick.
“Strong, da l
ove,” Okelani said beside her.
Nica smiled, unable to contain the joy. She’d been on the edge of despair, unable to face one more stranger in need. Her throat swelled with emotion. Almost a year to the day since Gentry had staggered into her life, she would now become her sister. Yes, she thought. Strong, the love. Mahalo.
And there before her, Cameron’s face told the story. Gentry’s steps sang the song.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to David Ladd for valuable input as this story emerged and, along with Betty and Rick Busekrus, for Hawaiian expertise.
To Bob and Suzie Yunker for the fabulous Kauai condo.
To my mom Jane Francis, daughter Jessica Lovitt, friends Kelly McMullen, Karen Mohler, Doug Hirt, and Mary Davis for prayerful reading and critique.
To my son Trevor for encouragement.
And to my husband Jim for everything.
… for God’s gifts and his call are irrevocable.
ROMANS 11:29
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